Chapter 4
Druig took his armor off with a groan, stiff and obviously in pain. Eternals healed quickly, but given the extent of the injuries he had suffered, it was no wonder he still ached. Makkari rushed to help him, peeling back his cassock and letting it fall to the floor around his legs. His undershirt was stained with blood, from thankfully now-healed wounds all across his chest and arms. And worst was the still-reddened burn, from where Ikaris had knocked him out of the sky.
Makkari swallowed a gasping sob, realizing once more how close she had come to truly losing him. She closed her eyes against the mist of tears gathering.
Warm hands clasped her upper arms, pulling her in for a hug. "It's okay," Druig murmured again, as he had on the beach. "I'm here. We made it. We're okay."
She sucked in a shuddering breath, opening her eyes and blinking back the wetness. Leaning into his embrace, she made herself relax, inhaling deeply, and the scent of Druig so near to her made her cry again.
Oh, how she had missed him. The tears flowed freely now, and she clutched at his back. He rocked her gently, murmuring something that soothed her from the rumbles in his chest, all the while stroking her back up and down, up and down, up and down.
Just like he used to.
In time, her tears dried, and Makkari pulled away, sniffling. Druig looked at her, waiting patiently.
I'm so, so, so sorry, she told him at last, the words she'd been clinging onto for five hundred excruciating years. I'm sorry I pushed you so far. I'm sorry I didn't support you. I should have been on your side from the beginning.
He smiled at her, a small, sad smile. "I wish you hadn't been forced to choose."
And I wish I'd chosen differently, she confessed. As soon as you were gone, I knew I had made a mistake, the worst mistake I ever could make. I should have known how much I needed you.
I have missed you more than I have words to say, he told her. I'm sorry too, I'm so sorry – I should not have told you to let me go.
Makkari gritted her teeth against the pain that boiled up at those words, the familiar pain that plagued her every time she had to tell herself to let go, let go, let go.
"I wanted to see you," Druig admitted, eyes falling to the floor. "More than anything."
Then why, why did you never look for me? Why did you never ask? The words were tugged from her against her will: she didn't want to know that he had been lonesome too, didn't want it to assuage any of the guilt she carried. It was her fault, hers alone, that Druig had left her. There was no use now in learning that her narrative these past centuries was flawed.
And yet, she had to know.
He avoided her gaze. I couldn't leave the village, not after everything. I couldn't come find you.
I… thought you had moved on, Makkari confessed, and felt a shadow drop over her face. How many times had she watched him with his people, smiling, laughing, happily teaching them and talking with them, singing, dancing, living? She wasn't sure if it had hurt more or less than if he'd seemed melancholy.
Druig was shaking his head, a rueful twist to his lips. I didn't move on, I just kept putting one foot in front of the other.It felt like purgatory, self-inflicted, and I knew you would not come. I should have left centuries ago, but… my children. I didn't know how to leave them.
"I'm sorry." He leaned his forehead against hers. "It should not have been so long."
She stayed like that, feeling their breath mingle together, appreciating the simple pleasure of his nearness. Then she drew back, looking hesitantly up into his eyes.
I forgive you, she said, the signs feeling ridiculous on her fingers. There was no question of how to respond – of course she would forgive him; it hardly needed to be said.
But apparently it did need to be said, for he collapsed into a relieved grin when she signed, reaching out to squeeze her arms. "And I have already forgiven you, five hundred years ago. Makkari, I love you more than anything."
In response she leapt at him, nearly sending them both tumbling to the floor. She flung her arms about him and left a flurry of kisses on him, and he laughed, that wondrous familiar sound, and kissed her in return.
She looked at him closely, his beloved face: dark hair like the shadows of the jungle, tousled and falling into his face; skin pale as the moon, healed now from the injuries he had suffered; and his eyes, blue as a summer's day, sweet rather than piercing as he gazed steadily at her.
The sun had set, leaving the room cast in shadow, lit only from the few undamaged lights still glowing in the hall. Exhaustion was setting in again, and Makkari could feel her energy flagging, as the adrenaline of the battle and the conversation with Druig at last faded away.
He had finished undressing, clad now in soft sleep clothes, and had set another pair out on the dresser. They had always kept each other's clothes in their rooms, and Makkari smiled, remembering how many nights they'd spent curled up together in the millennia before the Domo had been abandoned. It had hurt too much to think about when she had been alone, but now the memories felt warm, like a thick blanket to curl up with after the tragedy of the last few days.
Druig had pulled back the blanket on his bed, coming back over to Makkari, and she caught another whiff of his sweet scent, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
"Stay with me?" he asked, smiling down into her upturned face, and she glowed.
I'll never leave you again.